


Blue Skies Are Coming (Rewrite)

by CloudSpeck



Series: Blue Skies Rewritten [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cat Jaskier | Dandelion, Catskier is my sweet summer child, Creature Fic, Depression, Eskel is dense, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Rating May Change, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudSpeck/pseuds/CloudSpeck
Summary: Jaskier travels alone until he bumps into a new witcher at a new inn. Eskel is nice, much nicer than Geralt and lets Jaskier unleash some emotional baggage as well as get a cuddle in. Jaskier is tired of traveling alone, so he invites himself into this new witchers life. It takes Eskel far, far to long to realize who Jaskier is.TW: Eventual anxiety attacks & self harm in later chapters. I'll be sure to warn on those chapters as well.Hope you all like the rewrite as much as you were enjoying the original.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, one-sided Jaskier | Dandelion/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Blue Skies Rewritten [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888054
Comments: 19
Kudos: 128





	1. Seen the Whirlwind Unwind

**Author's Note:**

> Desire - Langston Hughes
> 
> Grammar is still fuzzy, but honestly, I think I'm much more pleased with this than the original

Eskel is not entirely sure what to expect when the bard in bright teal clothes slides into the seat across from him. It is probably just for a contract, except the man does not look nervous, does not smell of fear, and does not even eye his swords. The witcher, needless to say, finds it a tad confusing.

"Witcher. School of the Wolf," is the first thing the singer says to him in a voice that's clear and light. Eskel chokes on his ale at the address.

"Excuse me, bard?" He is a little rough with his words, not having used them for true conversation in some days. How the hell does this bard know that? Why would any human have information like that?

There's something of a dramatic huff from the bard and then the exaggerated roll of too-blue eyes. "I said, dear witcher,"

'Dear witcher'? Eskel's fingers tighten on the handle of his mug as he mouths the words to himself in disbelief. He is no one's 'dear' anything. The bard keeps talking, oblivious to Eskel's rising discomfort.

"'Witcher, School of the Wolf'," the bard drums a beat on the table with his fingertips and bites his lower lip. If the witcher was paying that any mind, he might find it attractive, as is, this is still too puzzling to focus on such a thing. "I was going to ask if I could buy you lunch, maybe?" 

The bard's words and stature, which had started off so confident, slowly seem to slide out of existence as he voices the question and they disappear completely when the witcher does not immediately answer. Eskel frowns, trying to figure out the change. At the shift in expression, the singer nods as though he's been given an answer.

"I know, I know, broody and loner sorts. It's okay," his voice has gone from light to melancholy. The bard looks him over, nods once more, and stands. Without permission, Eskel's hand strikes out and pulls him back down by the wrist. The shock of the move is evident on both of their faces when the man falls back into his seat with a thud.

"Jaskier, traveling bard, charmed to be at your service," There's a slowly blooming smile on the brunette's face now and the witcher thinks, ridiculously, that there should always be one there. His name does sound vaguely familiar and there is still the confusion of why Jaskier smells of no fear, but the witcher shuts that down for right now.

"Eskel. distrusting witcher," Eskel is somewhat uncomfortable, but he wants to keep the bards' confident posture and smile from slipping again. Luckily, Jaskier laughs, a rumbling, almost purring sound.

"Well, Eskel, distrusting witcher, you are already much more humorous than my last companion. Anyway, let's have lunch," the singer slaps his legs as he stands and then makes his way to the bar, easily ordering from the man behind it. Eskel watches after him with pursed lips and furrowed brow. His last companion? Didn't humans normally travel in groups? Not in pairs or even alone? Safety in numbers and all that.

The witcher voices the thought before the bard even has a chance to sit back down with their bowls. His cornflower eyes shutter and his smile flattens, all expression gone. It only lasts a moment, but a moment seems an eternity. Eskel's feeling of discomfort returns full force. Maybe his companion died? The singer sighs quietly and takes his seat, more subdued than he was before.

"I have been traveling alone for nearly half a year. My last companion- We traveled together a long time, but he made it quite clear I was unwelcome by his side any longer." There is anger and heartbreak dripping through his words. Resignation covers it all like a terrible, suffocating blanket, as though he knew the abandonment had been a long time coming. "He was such a muse for me. I wrote so many beautiful songs for him and about him. Certainly some he will never even have the pleasure of hearing," Jaskier's voice is wistful, and Eskel is reminded of how familiar the brunette seems again. "You know you probably are not interested in any of this. No one likes a bard with maudlin tales," the singer's hand waves in the air like it's trying to encompass all his words, his emotions, his story, and himself.

Eskel's brows scrunch and he shakes his head minutely. "Nothing wrong with a bard who tells maudlin tales. Everyone has a maudlin tale to tell. If they say they don't, well then, they're lying." It is hardly philosophical, but the bard looks at him like he is the most wondrous thing and the feeling it causes has Eskel's ears burning with embarrassment.

"Dear witcher, thank you so much for letting me tell you this. I couldn't even tell the other professors at Oxenfurt, as they could not truly understand. So, humbly, I thank you," and then, before Eskel can even try to downplay the thanks, Jaskier is off and telling his grand tragedy. He never names a name and he sounds vaguely agitated throughout it all, but it does seem like he's really needed to let it out. The witcher pays close attention, polite in this, and lets the man rant. The singer really is quite an animated storyteller.

"I was eighteen when we met." That makes sense to Eskel. They must have only traveled a few years together. Young men always seem to fall in love too quickly, if the poems are anything to go by. "I was just out of the academy you see, for music and philosophy, though I finished with all seven, that's not the point. I had only just started traveling by myself. I wanted to be a proper traveling bard, you see. Gods, to imagine how disappointed my father would have been in me. Truly disgusted by the mere notion of my plans," he snorts, the noise just a tiny bit of a growl. Eskel is left to wonder at the reaction. Jaskier sounds more hurt about his companion than his family. It is surely odd, even for someone so intense.

"I was quite unequipped for traveling alone, probably a little too naive on that front. I know better now  _ obviously _ ."

The poet points toward his well-stocked pack and Eskel nods along while wondering just how unequipped he'd been if this is what "better" counted as now. 

"There was this lovely little inn in Posada - actually no - more like the most sickly of selkimore guts. Okay, truly not so bad, but the idea stands. They could not appreciate what a true talent I am, throwing bread at me and whatnot. I am a lyrical genius, famous far and wide, I will have you know. A master they call me."

The witcher cannot tell if the bright bard is being facetious, but he is certainly heated now. Jaskier looks pretty when he's angry, flashing blue eyes and ruddy red cheeks. Eskel stops paying attention for a few minutes, focusing on that thought and only zones back in after the brunette introduces his companion into the story. A vague sense of guilt gnaws at him for missing such a key thing, but it disappears quickly enough.

"-I say to him. 'Let me travel with you.' He may have told me no and I may have unintentionally called him a rude name, but in my defense, I had not known at the time what the name really meant for him. I thought it was just a name, one of those little monikers with an interesting story behind it. He has quite a mean swing though, I will give him that, gave me the biggest bruise I have ever ended up with, from him at least," he is still talking and Eskel feels like maybe he's missed something important. Why would you stick around someone who punches you practically right after meeting them?

"-I got this beauty out of that adventure. She is the only love who has stayed with me in all these years," Jaskier runs his hand across his lute tenderly. It looks elven and Eskel is struck, amber eyes staring at the lithe looking fingers as they move on it. "Filavandrel gifted it to me as an apology," his fingers strum along a few chords. "I wrote my companion a song after that adventure," the brunette goes quiet and the frown falls into place again. Eskel starts frowning in a mirror of it. "He hated it. He hates all my singing really." The bard shrugs so nonchalantly as if he's not hurting, and honestly, the witcher is starting to get whiplash from Jaskier's whirlwind emotions.

"If- If he hated your singing and he resorted to violence with you, why did you follow him?" Eskel asks quietly and Jaskier puffs his cheeks, lets out a long breath, and then gives him a bittersweet smile.

"He was a conundrum to me. I barely knew him, and he was so coarse, but he was so kind too- with the elves, I mean. I had never seen someone like that. It was-" Jaskier's nose scrunches and he tilts his head to the side, attempting to find how to phrase his question. "If you had met a person that really piqued your curiosity and you wanted to know more about them, wouldn't you try to get to know more?"

Eskel runs a finger along the table, thinking it over. Jaskier waits for an answer, eyes staying glued to him. "I have a Path I follow, all witchers follow the Path, but if I did not-" He leaves it there, and the bard nods in understanding. Of course, he would get it. The brunette seems the sort that understands these things. Jaskier is certainly the kind of man to pique Eskel's curiosity, especially the longer they spend talking.

"I made him go to a ball- a banquet really- a feast?- with me once," Jaskier taps his fingers on the table, tempo and rhythm following something that must be playing in his head. "It was over a couple of years after our first adventure."

A couple of years? Truly? So the bard may be slightly older than the youthful 20-year-old he looks.

"I asked him to be my bodyguard. I used to be- I was very- I mean, okay, so no judging, please. Not that it is necessarily bad to be so free with oneself, but- let us just say there was desire. I enjoy desire. I desired. I was very desired and very dumb about where that desire led me. Oh, just one second."

Eskel watches him with interest as he pulls a notebook and quill from his pack and starts mumbling and scratching something out along the page.

_"Desire to us  
Was like a double death,  
Swift dying  
Of our mingled breath,  
Evaporation  
Of an unknown strange perfume  
Between us quickly  
In a naked  
Room."_

Eskel doesn't realize he has leant in to watch Jaskier's fingers work the quill until the man stops and looks up, the bard's blue eyes are practically boring into his then. The brunette huffs, quick and nervous, hands twitching on his notebook like they want to roll it up or hide it away.

"I- sorry. I get distracted. Let me just- sorry. Apologies. Be quiet Jaskier. You are just. Just stop it. Stop tal-"

"You have a really nice voice."

Jaskier's mouth clicks shut so fast that the witcher thinks he surely bit off his tongue. Hasn't he ever been told his voice is nice? He had said he'd come from an academy? He said he was famous? Surely someone must have told him. There is a rosy blush spreading across the poet's cheeks and ears now. Fetching really. The bard squeaks a surprised sound and ducks his head nearly right after it. His heartbeat practically races in Eskel's ears.

"Thank you, dear witcher. That- that means so much." His cheeks are still bright pink when he manages to mumble the words.

Eskel saves him from further embarrassment by pulling him back into his story. Embarrassment looks just as nice on Jaskier as irritation, but the witcher isn't looking to cause him discomfort. "So, you were saying about this banquet?"

With the larger man's words, it is like something snaps him back and there is the curious emotional whirlwind again. "Oh, oh yes, of course. I asked him to be my bodyguard. I thought, perhaps, he finally decided to go because we were friends? Because friends help each other when it is needed or when asked. Looking back, I think he rather just wanted some silence for a while, for me to stop blabbering his ear off about it," Jaskier sighs dejectedly and looks around himself, focusing back in on Eskel shortly after. 

"Anyway. He claimed quite loudly that I was a eunuch when I was confronted by some cuckolded husband or another. I suppose he saved me from many a beating, but a eunuch, really?" He points at himself with a roll of his eyes. No, the bard definitely is not a eunuch. The way he carries himself alone is proof enough of that. Focus, Eskel. "I don't want to bore you with the details of what happened next, but the feast really went quite downhill from there and he disappeared on me right after. I ended up not seeing him for years after," the brunette takes a moment to drink from his cup and eat some food after talking. Eskel is baffled. Years on top of years of knowing someone only for them to disappear.

"Next time I saw him-" He sucks in a breath and Eskel leans in. Jaskier's heartbeat sounds like its tripping.

"He was looking for a djinn. I really should have let him be, but it had been so long, and I am a really nosy fuck. I cannot help it, it seems. I guess I made him too angry? I really am good at doing things like that and he was tired- and I can be annoying. He wished my voice gone, or at least something like it. I didn't even realize he had caused it. Djinns are tricky things. Anyway, he made this wish, and then suddenly I was dying."

Eskel starts choking on his drink again. Dying? Jaskier was speaking too fast now, too full of emotion like this was destroying him.

"Dying. He saved me. There was so much blood. So much choking. My throat was just- It felt like- I couldn't even- And then there was this sorceress," he is clenching the notebook, white-knuckled. Eskel's close to telling him that he's about to rip the pages with the death grip he has on it. "She fixed me, terrifying as she was. I was so happy that he saved me. So relieved. My friend. My best friend and I wanted to tell him that I lov- but then he ran in to save her because he has a hero complex," Jaskier has everything ranging from sorrow to fury in his eyes. "The damn building collapsed."

The bard seems like he's caught back in memory. Eskel nudges him with his foot to bring him back to the present and Jaskier jumps, knee ramming the table causing everything to shake. He hisses and shakes his head before shooting the witcher a grateful look, hand rubbing at his knee.

"I thought he was dead, like, I will have to bury him, or make a pyre, or...or... I don't know. Just really, very dead," Jaskiers' sudden laughter is hollow and his eyes burn. "He was fucking the sorceress in the rubble," he says it so bluntly that the witcher flinches, feeling every bit of irritation and unnamed emotion Jaskier put into the words.

"I went on a lot of adventures with him- so many. I mean, we were best friends. He would not say so, but I knew it, and then about half a year ago, we had our last adventure." The melancholy is back. Eskel is ninety-nine percent sure that this story is about to end awfully. He is so uncomfortable that he feels it all throughout his body, leeching all his heat and all of the heat surrounding them.

"It was an adventure, I will give it that. It would have made a great song and I wanted to go. I no longer wanted to go when the sorceress showed, but then suddenly he did. Besotted fool. I tried to get him to change his mind when she showed up, but the currents of women draw men ever closer."

Eskel nods feebly and Jaskier is chewing his lip for what seems like the 50th time. It looks puffy and bruised by now, likely attractive in any other setting.

"So, there was a sorceress, a dragon, a bard, and a hunter. It almost sounds like the beginnings of a truly terrible tavern joke," he takes a fortifying breath. "I tried so hard to tell him my feelings. I wanted for him to come to the coast with me. Take a break. Leave the adventure behind. We sat down together, staring over the mountainside, and then he left me without an answer so he could go to his sorceress. They all left me asleep at camp the next morning to go to the dragon. Just left me alone."

He gets quiet and now his hands are clasped tight in front of him on the table. "The dragon- the man who had brought us on the gods-forsaken- trip told the sorceress something. Something she hated, at least that is all I can assume on the matter, and she tore my best friend apart. When she was done she vanished," he has tears in his eyes and Eskel's hand betrays him for the second time today, clasping over Jaskier's hands and squeezing gently. "I tried to comfort him…" There is a quiet hiccough and then the smell of saltwater grows more potent.

"'If life could give me one blessing', he said, 'it would be to take you off my hands'." One of Jaskier's hands is gripping the one Eskel gave him like a lifeline, sharp nails pricking him from how tightly he holds like he is the most important thing Jaskier has ever had near him. The brunette is crying quietly across from him, thick crocodile tears that would fit more on a child. The hand not gripping the witcher is wiping furiously at his face leaving behind messy tear tracks.

"It is bloody hard to get down a confusing mountain alone when you don't know the path…" There is that fake, self-deprecating laugh once more, stopped only by another rough hiccough. Eskel hates it. Hates the sound. Hates the tears. Hates the idea of the expressive, colorful bard tripping his way down the mountain by himself.

Jaskier looks up and gives him a watery smile. The witcher can tell that the bard is about to try for a topic change to alleviate the awkwardness, so he talks faster. "I am sorry that that was done to you. It certainly was not deserved from what I can see or from what you told me. You deserved better after so long of being by his side," and somehow before he has even finished speaking, the witcher finds himself holding tightly to a loudly sobbing bard.

* * *

Somehow, after the tears and the holding, Jaskier finds his way back into his own seat. The brunette is calmer now if a little ashamed for basically mauling this stranger. Eskel looks flustered and a little unsure of where they both stand. The poor man, probably unused to hugs unless he pays for them. Hell, definitely unused to strangers lunging across tables for reassuring cuddles. Jaskier clears his throat loudly and pats his hair back into something tidy. His face is still blotchy, but at least he's not leaking from his eyes any longer.

"Dear witcher, I am so sorry for that. I should have asked permission." Eskel makes a noise low in his throat and Jaskier sighs quietly, hands moving under the table so that his fingers might be able to fidget without being seen. "You give really good hugs though, just so that you are aware. Very warm and safe." The larger man's head shoots up at that and it looks like he's about to reply to what Jaskier has just told him, but then one of the local men walks up and interrupts them before he can.

"Aye, Witcher? I've a contract for you," Jaskier turns his attention on to the farmer that is talking. He looks tired and scared of everything, including the witcher. Actually, he is eying the witcher with unease and serious distaste and well, that is just irritating as sin. The darling man across from him is too kind for looks like that. Before Eskel can even get the words out, Jaskier is talking. The brunette can never seem to shut up. He really wishes it were not such a damn problem for him and honestly he hopes Eskel will forgive him this, but well-

"What for? Something near the river or your farm? Children being snatched? What is it leaving behind? Has anyone seen anything to describe it?" The farmer looks startled and a little overwhelmed. Eskel looks pensive and like he might object to Jaskier's interrogation.

Jaskier makes an impatient clicking sound with his tongue and the farmer jolts, words falling in direct to-the-point sentences. Yes, the river. At night. Snatching and drowning the fishermen. They are having to steer clear of it. They look slimy and green?

"More like drinking men than fishermen then, huh…" Jaskier mumbles softly. Eskel huffs a surprised laugh and the bard's ears tinge pink. Witcher hearing, something he has forgotten about over the months.

"So, drowners then, good sir. Dear witcher, what do you charge for drowners? Ones on short notice?"

Eskel has the bewildered and confused look on his face once more. Jaskier is a curiosity. A definite curiosity.

"Eskel?" Jaskier asks a little more quietly, nudging his knee against the other man's. The bard's fingers fidget below the table. Maybe he really has overstepped?

"Oh, usually three-hundred. Five-hundred for a larger pack," he answers distractedly. How does Jaskier know about all of this? He really should not. It is distracting to try and figure it out right now though.

The farmer is frowning and looks like he's about to object. He sounds rough when he starts talking, "I'm not gonna pa-"

"Two-fifty upfront, Two-fifty after the job is done. We'll bring proof. No money, no kill," Jaskier states abruptly and the farmer is turning to look at the very human singer again. The very human singer that just earlier was sobbing his eyes out, brokenly, like a man with nothing in the world left to live for.

The farmer's heartbeat picks up, "I'm not-"

Jaskier's hands have moved during all this clasped under his chin, elbows resting on the table, attention fully on Eskel now. He looks bored, falsely so. He's still nervous about what he is doing. "Dear witcher, there's a town not two miles west. They will likely be more appreciative of your many talents there if you like. We could lea-"

The farmer is scrambling before Jaskier even finishes forming the sentence. All Eskel can think while seeing this exchange play out is 'Holy hell, did the bard just invite himself along with me? He did? What?' The farmer isn't even looking at the witcher now, full attention on the bard.

"Look, no, okay. Two-fifty now. Two-fifty after, you said?" The man fumbles out. Jaskier nods and leans back, sweet smile in place, but arms crossed over his chest.

"And a bag of whatever fruit his horse likes best when we bring back the proof. You are on a farm. You can do that. Do not give me that look. You need his help, not the other way around," Jaskier snaps, though he still looks pleasant.

Eskel cannot tell if the warm feeling he has throughout is for the thoughtfulness toward his horse or the way he is being defended. No one defends witchers. Well, mostly no one it seems. This is just another thing to puzzle out.

The farmer is nodding furiously and handing over his coin before disappearing back into the crowd. Jaskier turns clear, determined blue eyes back toward Eskel. He looks like he's preparing to be shot down, but also to fight if necessary. Eskel already knows what is about to happen, so he thinks he is prepared.

"Dear witcher, I am going to put my things in my room. When I come back down, I am going to give you this coin, and we are going to go on this adventure. I promise I will stay as far back as you need me to. I just want-" He starts faltering again, but Eskel has already begun nodding his head. If Jaskier is foolhardy and brave enough to do all this then the witcher certainly isn't going to say no to him coming along now.

"I will be in the stable, Jaskier." 

What else is he supposed to say to the bard? No, you are staying here? No, stop talking to me? Why would you interrupt my business? You need to leave me alone? Every one of those is completely terrible. He can't treat the man so awfully now that he knows so much about him.


	2. Wrap Me Up, Enfold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward soft boys are a forever jam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch - Will Of Alexander -HelloPoetry

When Jaskier comes back down he is in a pair of sensible flat-heeled boots and darker clothing. He's also carrying what looks to be silver daggers instead of the lute. Jaskier seems to have taken on a different sort of confidence too, leaving behind the tumultuous emotion of earlier for a steadier, surer stance. It is a tad disconcerting to see the shift between colorful, shining singer into, well, whatever this is. 

"Are you ready, bardling?" Eskel calls out to him while adjusting the reins on Scorpion. Jaskier's eyes lock on his horse when he walks up, admiring the stallions' smooth coat. He is so different from what Roach had been, still a majestic creature but definitely nowhere near as...Roach-like.

"Your horse is lovely, dear witcher. Can I?" Jaskier's hand is on the move before he has even finished the question. Scorpion snorts and moves his head back, but Jaskier keeps his hand steady. It takes only a moment before the stallion leans into the touch, and gods the smile on Jaskiers' face could light a whole city-state with how bright it shines. He leans into Scorpions' mane before he even realizes what he is doing, fingers weaving into the strands. It takes long seconds of the bard standing there with his face against the horse's neck and Eskel watching him with rapt attention before Jaskier even begins to notice what he has done. When he does, he makes himself take a few steps away. 

"Sorry. His horse was not really a fan of me, wouldn't really let me touch her. Crotchety thing. I would have spoiled her beyond rotten. I suppose it is okay, he'd probably have hated it if I had done that. Your horse is so very nice. Aren't you a sweet darling?"

Jaskier is still patting and running fingers over Scorpion and Eskel is starting to feel awkwardly jealous of the horse currently receiving the singer's touch. Scorpion huffs and nudges further into Jaskier's body and hands. It is a little odd to see his horse act like this, but he definitely understands Scorpion right now. It feels like he and his horse may be on the same wavelength about the tactile bard.

"Drowners. How far back do you want me to stay?" Jaskier asks as some sort of weird segue from their horse talk and Eskel is brought back from his thought to look at the man's very serious expression. "I am not keen for you to lose focus. You are so very nice, dear witcher and I know witchers die when they're distracted. I can be very distracting if I get too close. I've been told so."

Eskel nods his head slowly while the brunette talks. It is, by all accounts, an incredibly logical question to ask. All Eskel can think though is that Jaskier is not wrong about being distracting. "By Scorpion, that should be a fair enough distance when we stop. Wait for a while after it's done, just in case." 

He doesn't need the human to see him hyped up on potion after this fight. It will scare him off faster than any monster ever could. Jaskier nods in understanding and Eskel leads out the horse. It's a little confusing when Jaskier starts walking next to him instead of asking to ride with him. Maybe it is just a quirk of his? Or an odd preference? Maybe he just prefers the ground to riding?

The walk to the river is not quite quiet, humming, and the occasional finger drumming from Jaskier, the beat following along to Scorpion's hoofbeats. It is odd to have noise on the way to a hunt, not a terrible sort of odd though. If they were not on their way to take out these drowners then he would definitely appreciate the sound more. Some paces away from the bank Eskel slides down from his horse and holds the reins out to Jaskier. The bard takes them, chewing at his lip as he does. A potion consumed and a spare thought for the singer comes next before the witcher is off down the bank and toward the monsters.

There are only four of the bastards, not enough to even be a true pack, but he does take a rather gruesome wound to the shoulder and bruising that may stay for longer than a night with how deep it is. Overall not a terrible fight. Eskel gives Jaskier a faint smile as he limps up to him with one of the drowner heads in hand. He hasn't even managed to get the drowner head in a bag before the singer is on him, running his hand lightly over his shoulder, his arms, his chest, waist, legs like he's cataloging every single part of him and making sure it's there. He goes back to the shoulder and puffs out a breath that sounds vaguely irritated and growly, a quiet 'witchers' mumbled under his breath.

Jaskier is the one that grabs the trophy bag and attaches it to Scorpion. He makes Eskel use him as a crutch to get in the saddle like the witcher is weak. Eskel is surprised at the strength the bard uses to do that. He is not exactly the lightest man and Jaskier doesn't look like he has the most muscular build. Eskel takes his own chance to surprise the bard by pulling him up behind him with his good arm. Jaskier lets loose a squeak and wraps himself tightly around the witcher's 

When they get back to the inn, Jaskier lets Eskel put the stallion up, but he takes all the bags before the witcher can, with a tiny smile on his face as he does. Walking back into the building is a little awkward and Eskel isn't sure what to do. In the bustle of Jaskier's self-invitation, he had forgotten his own room and now he is not really focusing on much except for the bard and his shoulder, so-

"My good sir, a bath to my room, please," the bard's voice pipes up from near the bar. "And do you have any more bandages, perhaps?"

Jaskier is talking to the barkeep, but the barkeep is turning to eye Eskel. It is likely the blood, or the guts, or the witcher thing. Most likely the witcher thing. Jaskier is snapping his fingers in front of the man now and the man glares at him. Eskel would find it amusing, but he really just wants to sit down.

"The sooner you call for a bath and hand me more bandages, the sooner we can retire and leave you be," Jaskier scowls.

The barkeep's upper lip twitches in the beginnings of a snarl, before hestalkis off and Jaskier is back at Eskel's side, letting him lean into his comforting smell and feel. The barkeep comes back with wraps and tells Jaskier bluntly that there will be a bath sent up in 20 minutes. Jaskier sets down a generous tip, because he really is not  _ that _ big of an ass, and pulls Eskel along with him. He goes willingly, even though he does not remember agreeing to any of this.

Climbing up the stairs is painful and Jaskier walks slowly by his side as a support, just in case. The door to the room opens and the singer pulls Eskel to the center of it, dropping the bags in the corner right after. Eskel takes the time to look around. It looks like the bards' things already cover the desk and some of the floor in an explosion of belongings. When Jaskier finishes with the bags he turns to look at Eskel, tapping at his own chin for barely a moment in thought.

"Can I take your swords off, or rather, I know those are important. Do you need help taking them off?" Eskel blinks and blinks again, processing the question before shaking his head. 

The swords are divested quickly and Jaskier sets them gently up against a desk leg. Next, the bard starts pulling Eskel's armor away and setting it to the side. Eskel's ears burn with the crawling, shuddery, feeling under his skin. Jaskiers hands are calloused but soft and he moves efficiently, humming one of those familiar tavern tunes while he works. By the time Eskel is down to his small clothes, the water is being brought up.

Jaskier looks at him, wide-eyed and expectant and Eskel looks back at him in confusion. Isn't the bard going to take a bath first? 

"I did not order a bath for me, dear witcher. Please get in. Let me wash your hair and clean up your wounds?"

Eskel is struck a little dumb, pulling off his small clothes and stepping into the hot water like he's in a trance, mind lost on the requests. Jaskier is behind him soon after, dumping something that smells a little spicy into his water and rubbing a cloth down his arms and chest. No one has ever done this for him. It is confusing everything in his head. Witchers do not receive this sort of treatment, not even with paid company.

_"My arms are aching  
Not from excess, but from a lack  
I do not touch_

_I do not touch you  
Something stops me every time  
I do not touch_

_I do not touch you  
But I can't stop wanting  
I do not touch_

_I do not touch you  
I do not touch  
I do not touch I do not touch_

_But my arms are aching  
I am sore from a lack of reaching  
I do not touch."  
_

It startles him to hear poetry like that. He has never heard a person recite poetry while digging guts and blood from another's hair. Especially his. Eskel isn't actually sure Jaskier knows he's murmuring the words, so he doesn't say anything and just listens. It is a sad poem, a poem of longing. Eskel wonders if it is one of the ones the bard said he had written for his companion. It is nice. It is nice to have that. For a wild moment, the witcher wants Jaskier to write for him, to have it too.

It has been more than ten minutes of Jaskier's calloused fingers on his skin and in his hair. Eskel is near dozing when Jaskier's face comes into view smiling softly down at him. "I think you are suitably clean now Eskel, no guts on your beautiful skin. Will you let me clean up your wounds?"

Eskel rubs his eyes with his forefinger and thumb to fight the tiredness, then shrugs his shoulders. The water slaps the edge of the tub as he moves.

"I'll be all healed in a few hours though, bardling."

Jaskier pats his head, almost like a dog, and Eskel leans back into it before he can stop himself. "I know that. I would like to anyway. Please?" He sounds so hopeful that Eskel cannot help but nod his assent and stand up. It's a little thing Jaskier wants and he wants to please the bard. Jaskier makes a noise when the witcher climbs out and averts his eyes, cheeks pink. Eskel can hear his heartbeat pick up. Nervousness or embarrassment. The witcher pulls his smalls on quickly and wraps a bathing sheet around himself, covering more for Jaskier than himself. He's not feeling any pain anymore, but he allows the bard to sit him on the edge of the bed and bring the bandages over.

The bard is gentle while applying chamomile and a poultice for bruising before moving on to grab the wraps from the table. Jaskier places a soft hand on Eskel's back and wraps bandages around his shoulder and chest firmly. The singer looks content like this is something he'd been missing doing and maybe he has. Eskel won't ask. Everything smells good right now and he is too focused on that to ask questions. Jaskier smells good. The lotion smells good. The oil from the bath smells good. And Eskel, Eskel feels so tired.

"It's late," Jaskier says as he pats the bandage and Eskel looks around the room, confused and bleary-eyed.

"Give me a second and I'll grab my bedroll. The bed is yours after all," Eskel mumbles sleepily before going to stand up.

Jaskier pouts and pushes him back 

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Eskel waits patiently for an explanation, eyebrows furrowing and lips tilting in a tired frown.

"I would like to sleep with you."

Eskel tenses up, suddenly wide awake. Jaskier seems to think about what he said right after Eskel locks up under him. The blush starts up immediately, bright red and burning from his ears down past his collar. He chokes on the breath he takes.

"God, no, I meant, sleep- like, cuddle. Under blankets, dream- sleep, with clothes. Very comfy. Very tired," he stutters out, hand clenching and unclenching on the bandage, sharp nails pulling it minutely. Eskel's pretty sure that the man's whole body must be red with how fast his heart is rabbiting.

"You are so wonderful, dear witcher, much kinder than my last companion, but I still long for him," his cheeks are still flaming and Eskel is still tensed up, body slow to unlock.

Sleep. Just sleep.

"I don't promise not to steal blankets," Eskel gives as a quiet answer to the not-quite-request, trying to calm the bard (trying to calm himself). He chooses to completely bypass the compliment and companion comment, strictly for his own sanity.

Jaskier laughs anxiously and lets go before stepping back. His flush and heartbeat becomes fainter with each step. The bard turns and removes his daggers, setting them over on the chair next to Eskel's 

"That's alright. Witchers give off plenty of body heat. I am a pillow hog, so I have been told," he shrugs. 

The doublet follows the knives and then the boots go next, set off to the side. Eskel watches with interest. Even with the dark outer layers, it seems like Jaskier is incapable of completely leaving behind color, his chemise- his very feminine lace chemise- is a baby blue. Eskel is slightly awed to see how muscular he actually is underneath his clothing. The witcher briefly wishes for different circumstances.

Jaskier diminishes the candles and climbs into the bed next to him. He lay on his back next to Eskel in silence for a few seconds before huffing in annoyance. Without asking permission, the bard turns and burrows himself under the witcher's arm, placing his head on the larger man's chest.

"I'm sorry, I just need-" The bard wraps his arm around him tighter like he was trying to protect him or keep him from leaving forever. Eskel shrugs and then wraps his own arm around him. Jaskier is soft. The places where his hair should be coarse are softer. He smells like nutmeg and orange blossom. It is very nice. Jaskier hums a nonsense tune and within minutes is out, heavy purring breaths coming from him. Eskel spends a few more minutes watching him, puzzling the singer out in his head.

Who knew a bossy bard would be able to wrap him around their finger so quickly?


End file.
